


My father's son

by Valandhir



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 02:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valandhir/pseuds/Valandhir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Standing at the grave of her sons, Dís remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My father's son

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small idea on why Fíli and Kíli look so different in the movies.

The night the child was born was a wretched autumn night; thunder was rolling in the distance and rain battered down on the dwarf camp in Dunland. There also were Orcs nearby, scouring through the woods. Dis would have wished for better weather, some mercy from the storm and maybe at least the respite of a night without Orc attacks, to make it easier on the young mother. The Princess knelt in the mud beside Ida, gently nudging her to drink the cup of bitter elf-root concoction that would ease the young dwarf’s passage into this world. The young dwarf woman tried to refuse at first; she knew that Dis had been gathering those herbs all summer for her own childbirth that should be imminent around midwinter. But Dis would have nothing of it; she always used what she had to ease the suffering of the others in camp.

Ida groaned hardly able to suppress a scream, Dis was grateful for the young woman’s endurance, because any scream would have lured the Orcs here. Silently the Princess wished that there was a real dwarven healer or midwife amongst the rag-tag dwarven group, but ever since old Auda had died two winters ago it was the Dis who filled that role to the best of her ability. An arrow hissed through the dark hitting the pole that Dis had used to erect the rain fly. Shouts and angry howls rose moments later when some of the men confronted whatever Orcs were out there.

Dis heart sank when she heard the horn; it was a signal by Dwalin for all the woman and children to give up the camp. There were too many Orcs and maybe even Dunlanders coming. This time Idea truly screamed when her child was washed from her body in a flood of blood. Hurried Dis took it, rubbing it dry. It was a healthy boychild with no deformations or birthmarks. In times of peace his father should be here, taking it into his arms as a gesture of accepting it as his blood… but these were no times peace and Dis did not even know with whom Ida had lain. She knew the young dwarf woman was not promised or bonded, and she had not asked why and with whom Ida had slept during the last winter. While she had her own thoughts on the matter, the Princess would never shame one of her fellows by indicating anything untoward, no matter how true. She placed the child in his mother’s arms, quickly helping Ida to her clothes and giving her the rest of the tea. “We need to run, the camp is already fleeing.”

They stumbled through the woods, Dis half dragging, half carrying Ida through the stormy night. They heard the fighting and the screams behind them. Orcs and Dunlanders hunting for dwarves; getting caught would earn them a cruel fate in both cases, Dis thought grimly. Orcs loved to torture and torment their prisoners and Dunlanders would make sport of any woman they captured.

Slipping down a hillside, Dis found a hole, nothing more than a muddy deep den and pulled Ida into it. The hole was not big but enough to hide them both. Hastily she pulled a few branches on top of it. With luck, it would be enough to hide them. Ida was shaking, the thin shabby dress was soaked and she was exhausted. Dis took off her own cloak and gently wrapped the dwarf woman into the warm folds. For hours they sat in darkness, hearing shouts and fighting from afar. Dis tried to keep Ida warm but the woman got weaker and weaker by the hour.

“I’m not going to make it.” Ida whispered hoarsely. “It’s so cold…”

“You will make it.” Dis tried to encourage her. “Your son needs you. You will need to find his father…”

“I can’t.” Ida sniffed, tears running down her face. “I seduced him last winter, to gain a place by a fire and some blankets to sleep. He’d have offered anyway, but I was so tired of begging. I just wanted to feel… just for one time I wanted to feel I was welcome to the place, not just granted it out of obligation.”

Dis gently stroked Ida’s blond hair. The last winter had been cruel on all of them, they had lost most of their possessions to a raid in October and been forced to cross the mountains in winter. A place with a group that had a fire and blankets and truly been a privilege. She had tried to help others, but never realized how lucky she was to have Dari. Brave, dependable, strong Dari, who had built fires for her each night and given her his fur cloak as blanket. She had then already seen that he loved her, that he was devoted to her. He had served on the royal guard before the mountain fell. Dis smiled, thinking of her Dari. He’d never dared to raise his eyes to her, not even then. Always she had been “M’lady” or “Princess” or “Zig-dur”, only once he had called her Dis and that was the evening when they had had reason to believe her brother lost to an avalanche. Had Dis not stepped forward on the first day of spring to take Dari’s hand, he’d continued to protect and serve her, in spite of his love. “If the father of your child was honorable enough to allow you a place by the fire anyway, then he’ll be honorable enough to accept the child as his.” She eventually pointed out to Ida.

“No,” Ida shivered, her body going colder still. “he is sworn to your house… his obligation is to protect your brother. He can’t be burdened with a clan, or a child… or woman too incompetent to fend for herself.”

“You are not incompetent.” Dis chided the young woman. “You were a lapidary not a ranger.” So the father was someone who still held to his loyalty to her house then; royal guard most likely, or one of the few others who had held steadfast to their sworn oaths, one of her brother’s men or worse – her father’s. No, her father had not been with them since they had crossed Wilderland the summer before last.

A whimper brought Dis back from her musings. Ida was shaking; blue spots were appearing on her skin. “Mahal… my child,” she whispered despondently. “what will they do it when I am gone…?”

There was little denying that Ida was dying, no matter how hard Dis tried to keep her warm. “Listen,” the Princess said softly. “don’t you worry about that now. You will fight for your life.”

But fighting was not enough, not this time. When morning came, Ida was cold and dead, her last breath gone. Dis wiped the tears from her eyes. “Mahal receive you gently, Ida, daughter of Idreldis.” She said warmly. “Do not fear for your child, I will take good care of him.” There is nothing she could do to bury the other dwarf woman, this hole in the earth would have to do. With the small child in her arms Dis climbed from the hole sometime after sunrise and began to make her way north.

It was like that that she was found by Dari a few hours later. Once the fight was over and their people secure he had turned back at once to find her. Wordlessly he took her into his arms, holding her. Dis buried her face into his shoulder, allowing his strength to support her. Many hours later, during the following night while they huddled by the fire Dis finally got the chance to tell her husband of Ida and of her promise to take care of the small boy. Gentle and understanding, Dari kissed her dark hair. “Then we better give him a name,” he suggested.

Dis leaned into the embrace, glad that he would accept the stranger child as theirs. It would mean two children for them when the winter is over. “What name should he have?” she asked, not yet sure what to name the boy. Dwarves named their children for the paternal line, for the deeds and traits of their father clan. But this boy never had a blood father.

Dari gently touched the baby’s head with his large, calloused hand. “Fili,” he said. “Son of the Storm, fitting, don’t you think?”

“Fili, a good name,” Dis agreed, looking up when someone stepped up to them. It does not need a second glance for Dis to recognize Dwalin, her brother’s friend and loyal protector. “Dwalin,” she greeted him. “does Thorin have need of me?”

“Nay, Mylady,” Dwalin replied with a short bow. “I came to ask you because you were last seen with Ida. She has been missing since we had to flee camp.”

For a moment Dis did wonder why it is not Balin who came to ask, the headcount and tally of casualties would have been his task, not his brother’s. But maybe Balin had been wounded last night. “She died, Dwalin,” Dis explained gently. “the exhaustion of birth and the cold… it killed her. I was with her to the end.” Meeting the warrior’s eyes Dis believed for a moment to see sadness and grief, but she was sure she was wrong. Dwalin was one of their strongest and long past the count of grief for whomever they lost on their endless journey. Without warriors of his strength and steely heart they all would long have perished.

“I am very sorry to hear that,” he grumbles. “what of her child? Did it…?” he shruged helplessly, uncomfortable with a women topic.

Dis shook her head. “All is done that needs to be done, Dwalin.” She said warmly, appreciating the warrior at least trying to show concern, much as it is clear that he does not know how. “Thank you for your care.”

The stalwart dwarf bowed to her and left to report to his brother and to Thorin.

Dis own child was born several months later, at the elven New Year’s Day, a fierce snow storm wracking the camp at the time. Nevertheless her little boy was born hale and hearty, a beautiful babe with his father’s dark eyes. Dari was beside her all the time and when he took the child into his arms announcing it his own, he named the boy Kili, Son of Winter.

The following years of wandering were as hard and wretched as the ones before, but they managed to survive. Often it was Dwalin who would seek them out at nights, bringing them extra food or firewood, looking out for them. Dis often was touched by the stalwart friendship the warrior showed her house and how gently he often would look out for her two small sons. It was something so very unlike him that she appreciated it all the more. When the boys grew and began to make their first small steps, they’d often find their way to Dwalin, sitting on his knees, cuddling into his warm cloak. In such moments Dis often saw Dwalin smile with a warmth and affection that made her heart nearly break. Dwalin had sworn himself to protect her house, protect her brother, forgoing the comforts of marriage and family to serve Durin’s blood. And thus she allowed her children to often be with him. He might not have a family of his own, but he found some measure of it in her sons.

 

***

 

They moved north the winter after the battle. Dis silently hated her grandfather for trying to reclaim Moria. It had meant another crossing of the mountains. Another march across snow and ice, with the following battle taking thousands of dwarven lives. Five days she tended to the wounded, silently praying for her husband. It is on the sixth days that Dari returned to her, wounded and tired, but alive. He stood with Thorin through most of it and regaled her with the tale of Thorin’s heroic fight against Azog. Dis silently embraced her husband, not asking for his own great deeds, she knew he’d never tell, never say a word.

 The battle left Thorin as the sole leader of the homeless dwarves, and again they crossed the mountains and wandered west until they finally reached the Ered Luin. For weeks Thorin went to search the reaches of the Blue Mountains, only accompanied by ever faithful Dwalin, and finally he found what only Durin’s blood could still find: the hidden gates of broken Belegost. Most of the splendid city was destroyed more than an age ago but there still were tunnels and broken halls that offered shelter. It was much more than the refugees had seen in years and they gratefully took what they could get. Dari found a number of stone rooms atop a broken stair for the family, and it was the first time that he and Dis had a home that was more than a tent or a campfire.

The years passed by and life improved steadily. Having a roof over one’s head was already a luxury and the dwarves always were and industrious people. Sure, they had to journey far for trade and often had to leave their mountains to work in the villages and cities of men, but they still fared much better than during their wandering years. Thorin proved to be a strong, capable leader, helping them to make the transition into their new lives. But the day came when Dis saw him and Dari stand on one of the watchtowers and deep in her heart she knew what they spoke of. She had known for some time Thorin saw her sons as his heirs, he held little hope for a wife and children of his own. And Thorin did as would be proper and spoke to Dari about it. It was a moment to break Dis’ heart all over again, for she knew Dari’s answer before he even said it. Of course he would step back and allow the children to be the sons of Dis, and thus the nephews of the royal line. He would remain their blood father of course, but in all other things they would belong to the maternal line and not to their father’s house.

Touched and pained by her husband’s unwavering loyalty to her bloodline Dis tried to intercede, reminding Thorin that Fili was not her blood-child, though she loved him every bit as much as her own son. Maybe Fili could remain the son of Dari and Kili could become the son of Dis, thus allowing for both to gain something. But Thorin was adamant, he wished for both children to be part of Durin’s line, and he became angry with Dis for interfering. It was Dari who stopped Thorin’s rant, reminding him forcefully that no one, not even his brother in law, not even his king, would ever dare to raise a hand against his wife. In those terse moments Dis feared for her husband’s life, but strangely Thorin’s anger evaporated and he embraced Dari, commending him on putting Dis first in all matters. He then told Dis that both sons will be Durin’s line. “For Ida came from an acceptable house and she chose well in her warrior.” Only then Dis began to realize her brother knew who Fili’s father was. And silently she began to wonder if Ida may have seduced her brother in that winter night years ago.

When the boys were nearing their twenty-ninths winter Dari died. He had been out patrolling the borders with Thorin and Dwalin. The small settlement needed warriors to defend it for the surrounding lands were wild and dangerous. This patrol was especially unlucky to run into an Orc ambush, having to fight against superior numbers. And although they won the day, returning victorious with the Orc gang destroyed, they carried Dari home dead. Dis learned the entire story from Dwalin who as gently as possible told her that Dari shielded Thorin against several Orc spears, giving his life to protect his king. In heart Dis knew Dari would never do any less, he never had been close to Thorin, who always had been his King, never quite the brother in law.

At Dari’s funeral Dis wept, the pain and loss overwhelming her. Only later she did notice that her two sons stood beside her, pale and with ringed eyes but composed. They both stepped forward, placing their hands on the stone grave, bidding Dari goodbye. None of the brothers did weep, neither at the funeral nor in the nights to come, and Dis sometimes had felt betrayed that her sons would honor their father so little. That was until she happened to overhear one night, when Dwalin was talking to them. “Dari would not want you to weep,” she heard the old warrior say. “he loved you, and he wanted you to be strong and happy. He could never be your clan father, and he would be happy to see that you don’t wail and scream about him leaving. He always was glad to see how much you love your Uncle.”

 

***

 

The years passed by like the winter rains, Thorin raising both of Dis’ sons, and when he cannot train them, Dwalin will do so instead. It was Dwalin who taught Fili to fight dual-handed and who talked Thorin into furthering Kili’s archery skills. Sometimes Dis wondered why Thorin would trust Dwalin with the boys more than anyone else. But she knew Dwalin would lay down his life to protect them, and thus she accepted her brother’s wishes. But her heart became heavy because Thorin would take the boys more and more, for travels, on patrol, even when going to the villages of men. They both of course followed their uncle, they worked hard to earn his approval, and they admired and loved him, only rarely did they ever speak of Dari.

When Thorin called for those who would follow him back to Erebor, Dis knew her sons would be the first to commit. She did not want them to, but knew that they would only stay behind if Thorin ordered them to. Thorin’s word was law, and they knew that. But Dis also knew that Thorin would never say no. She had watched and studied her brother in the intervening years and she knew that behind the stern, impatient façade, he was very fond of both, and enjoyed their admiration, their unquestioning loyalty. He would lead, they would follow, and that was how things would be.

 

***

 

When Dis finally journeyed to the Lonely Mountain she already knew her brother and sons were dead. News of the battle had arrived all too quickly and her heart had felt their passing, much like feeling every blow of the swords and axes when her sons had been cut down. She arrived alone and unannounced, not bothering to see Daín or his kin. Her only way led her down to the deep crypts where her brother now lay and her sons were buried beside him. On Thorin’s grave rested an elven blade, and both her sons crypts were adorned with lights. Dis wanted to weep, to cry until the painful stone in her heart became hollow, but she could not. She noticed the candles, someone came here each night to light them, a vigil continued well after time.

She did not know whether to be surprised or pained when she saw Dwalin enter the crypt, lighting fresh candles on the stone graves. But she was shocked to see warrior’s eyes dark, dark and dead, traces of tears hardly hidden from plain sight. Strong, steely willed Dwalin, who had neither cried nor mourned for any of the many friends and family lost on the long journey, brought to bitter tears at her brother’s and sons’ passing.

Dis stepped closer, gently drawing the warrior into a hug. He returned it and for long moments they just stood, sharing their grief. Yet there was a glimmer of light coming back to Dwaling. “Do you wish to remain here, M’lady?” he asked in his gruff deep voice.

“No,” Dis replied without any doubts. “this is not my home any more, Dwalin. I will go back to the home Dari built for me so long ago. I only wished to say goodbye to my sons.”

“Then I shall escort you back safely,” he told her and she understood that he would protect her as fiercely as he had protected her brother.

When Dis turned to leave she saw Dwalin step closer to Fili’s cairn, gently tracing his hand over the stone engravings. “Fare well, lad. Mahal send you home.” He whispered. And suddenly Dis began to understand, down here in the semi dark of the crypt she finally unriddled what she had so long pondered about. The warrior who had lain with Ida had not been her brother, or if her brother had done so he had not been the father of little Fili.


End file.
